


Shell With No Soul III

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conversations, M/M, Plot Advancement Playhouse, demon torture, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:22:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shell With No Soul III

XVI.

Castiel bends over, hands on his knees, gasping in breath.

The devil’s trap sinks into the earth, taking the shrieking, cursing, blaspheming dark cloud with it and there is sudden silence.

Castiel straightens up, slowly, and winces at the pain in his side. He looks down at his arm and sees blood seeping slowly through the sleeve of his coat. Slowly, he wriggles that arm out of the trenchcoat and pushes up the jacket and shirt to inspect the wound. It isn’t deep, but it is painful: a ragged gash about a hands-width below the elbow.

He frowns dispassionately at the wound, then gingerly explores his ribs on that side. There is a deep ache and a twist when he breathes that seems more worrying than the cut. He presses his hand to his ribs and feels the pain ease. Taking a deep breath no longer feels like breathing through glass and he can stand straight again. The cut is still bleeding but, if he wants to be able to leave this desolate place tonight, he cannot afford to heal that.

The demon had been too fast for him – perhaps he needs the rest Dean has been needling at him to take. At the thought of Dean, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny plastic tube the younger man had given him, cradling it in his palm like something precious and fragile.

One less demon – one less of Alastair’s pets.

He looks down at the devil’s trap at his feet, engraved into the rock of this red sandstone butte, then looks around. He is not entirely sure where he is – dragging the demon from its host had been harder than he anticipated and he was not able to pick a destination beforehand – but there is the distant glow of a city on the southern horizon. The light pollution is not enough out here to dim the radiance of the stars and they shine down cold and clear. The place is quiet, beautiful, and he thinks with some satisfaction that sand will soon sift over the lines of the trap, wind will wear away the external markings, and perhaps the demon will think it can escape.

Then it will find out how powerful Castiel is.

He opens the chapstick tube carefully, smelling the faint sweet odor. Gently, as if Dean would somehow know what he is doing, he smoothes the soft balm over his lips and recaps the tube. He closes his hand over the tube and slides it back into his pocket.

Blood is trickling down over his wrist and he sighs. He had hoped to go after a second demon tonight, but that will have to wait.

* * *

Bobby’s kitchen is quiet, dark – he had not realised it would be so late at night but, of course, there was a time change between the desert and here. He looks around, looks down at his arm, and tries to think what the best thing to do is.

‘Hey, Cas, what’s – shit!’

He hears a clatter and turns around to see Sam drop a plate and mug on the kitchen table.

‘What the hell happened to you!’ Sam grabs a roll of paper towels, and is around the table faster than Castiel would have expected. He takes Castiel’s wrist and presses a wad of paper towels to the cut.

‘A demon was unexpectedly strong.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were on a hunt? Dean’s been champing at the bit for days!’ Sam lifts an edge of the towels gingerly, looks at what is underneath, grimaces, and clamps the towels back again. ‘He’d love to get his teeth into something like that. Where was it? What happened?’

‘Dean should not help me with this,’ Castiel says. ‘Nor should you. The demon was simply lucky. It will not happen again.’

‘We – shouldn’t help you?’ Sam looks up at him, eyebrows high. ‘Why not?’

Castiel does not answer.

Sam’s expression hardens for a minute, and he lifts the towels away from Castiel’s arm perfunctorily. ‘It’s the demon blood thing, isn’t it.’

‘No, Sam.’

Sam looks at him, studying his face, trying to see if he is lying. Since Castiel knows he is not, he returns the gaze without concern. Sam mutters something to himself and sighs. ‘C’mon – I can’t fix this up in the kitchen.’

* * *

Castiel sits on the closed toilet lid while Sam lays out supplies on the edge of the bathroom sink. He soaks a clean towel in antiseptic and turns to Castiel. ‘Sorry about this – it’s gonna sting.’

Castiel shrugs and holds out his arm. He does not anticipate that the sting will be so sharp or so painful and he cannot stop himself hissing between his teeth, clenching his hand into a fist.

‘No, no – don’t do that.’ Sam pulls his fingers back open. ‘You’ll make yourself bleed more.’

‘I cannot seem to stop it.’ Castiel is baffled as his hand tries to make a fist again despite his intention to keep his hand relaxed.

Sam grins at him briefly. ‘Yeah, reflexes are fun like that.’

Castiel struggles for a moment, then forces his fingers to relax.

Sam takes a last swipe at the wound and regards it soberly. ‘Well, you don’t need stitches. But only barely.’ He wipes his own hands on the dry side of the towel and picks up a small pot of antibiotic salve. ‘This should make it feel a bit better. Bobby’s healer friend made it.’

The salve smells faintly green and feels good on the torn skin. After a moment or two, he does feel the worst of the pain start to ease and it is easier to keep his hand relaxed.

‘So – if it’s not the – blood thing, then why can’t we help you? If you’re tracking down demons – hell, I want in on it!’ Sam keeps his eyes fixed on what his hands are doing.

‘This is...a personal thing.’

‘They pissed you off?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’ Sam screws the lid back on the pot and wipes his hands again, blinking at Castiel. ‘Okay. Uh – what’d they do?’

Castiel is silent for a minute, watching Sam pick up a large bandage.

‘Cas?’

Castiel looks up at Sam, studying his face for a long minute. ‘They...hurt Dean.’

Sam’s hands tighten and he stills. ‘In the pit.’

‘Yes.’

‘But Alastair’s dead. I killed him.’ Sam rips open the bandage roughly, but his hands are careful as he presses it over the cut, gently smoothing down the adhesive edges.

‘I know. You did well. But...there were others.’

Sam crumples the packaging from the bandage in one hand. ‘Dean’s been...weird lately. I thought he was just bored being here but he seems...jumpy. I asked him but – he says there’s nothing.’

Castiel waits.

‘He remembered something else, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck.’ Sam throws the crumpled ball into the trash with unnecessary force and it bounces back onto the floor. He glares at it, then at Castiel. ‘And he’s not gonna tell me, is he?’

Castiel is silent.

Sam mutters something profane and sighs, the anger dying out of his eyes. He rubs a hand back through his hair, making it stand on end. ‘Look – can – is he okay? I mean – now is he okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re...doing the clean-up?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many are there?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Can I help?’ There’s a sudden rawness in Sam’s voice. ‘Please.’ He bites his lip hard, as if he wishes the word hadn’t come out.

‘I do not think so, Sam.’ Castiel stands up, rolling his bloodstained sleeve back down. ‘Dean will talk to you in the end. He always does. Let him have time and let me do my work.’

Sam nods slowly, reaching down to pick up the ball of crumpled paper. ‘I’ll check our medical supplies.’ He looks up, meeting Castiel’s eyes. ‘Just in case.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "World So Cold," 3 Days Grace, _Life Starts Now._
> 
> This piece probably also reflects my perfunctory knowledge of actual first aid practices. I figure I'm about on par with what the boys actually know, so at least I'm not out of canon!


End file.
